


Marked

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Biting, Bruises, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Laxus likes marking Freed." Laxus is possessive and Freed is more than willing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

Laxus likes marking Freed.

It’s not something he consciously thinks about. It’s just that, when he has the other man spread out under him and shaky with anticipation, there’s something about the way Freed melts into his touch that feels like submission and something about the strain under the sounds he makes that sounds like begging, and Laxus can’t see any reason to resist the urge to answer that wordless plea. It’s worst when Freed’s on his knees like he is now, tipped down with his forehead pressed against the bed like that will do something to muffle the sounds he makes, the pale curve of his back looking inhumanly pristine like it’s waiting to be inked. When Laxus wraps his hands around the angles of Freed’s hips to brace him in place the other whimpers in anticipation as the blond leans down and presses his mouth to the line of pale shoulder. He can feel the way Freed trembles like a rung bell, like he’s vibrating himself into alignment with Laxus, and when Laxus opens his mouth to scrape his teeth over the other’s skin the sound Freed makes is disbelieving encouragement rather than protest.

“ _Laxus_ ” and Laxus never gets tired of that, either, the almost plaintive wail of his name on Freed’s tongue, as if he’s a god to be worshipped instead of a man. 

“Yeah,” Laxus says, his blood flushing warm with assumed control, and when he thrusts forward he bites down against Freed’s skin, digs the sharp edges of his teeth in against that untouched white as he sinks into the heat of the other’s body. Freed groans, all the tension of expectation in him giving way to melting capitulation, and Laxus tightens his mouth at the other’s shoulder, enough to drag a shudder of sensation that he can feel thrum all through Freed’s body. Freed whimpers again, the sound drawn lower instead of dimmed by the cover of the sheets pressed against his mouth, and Laxus starts to move, catches his rhythm almost immediately as Freed arches against him in unspoken encouragement. When he lets his hold go there’s no blood, just the imprint of his teeth printed in bruised pink against Freed’s shoulder. Laxus can watch the other’s reaction in the flex of his arm and the tension in his fingers as much as he can hear it in the whine over his breathing.

“Freed,” he says, slow and heated, rocks forward hard enough that the other slides against the sheets by an inch. Freed chokes on a breath, tightens his hold on the sheets like that’ll be enough to keep him in place, and Laxus grins at the tension in his shoulders, lowers his head again to press with mouth to the back of Freed’s neck, this time. Freed tips his head forward, shifting so his hair falls out of the way, and Laxus licks against the ridge of the other’s spine just under his skin, the space usually shadowed under the weight of the other’s hair. It’s his favorite place on Freed’s body, better than the cutting-edge sharpness of his hipbones or the shivering motion of his ribs when he gasps, better even than the unexpected strength in his slim wrists or the liquid-warm devotion in his eyes whenever he looks at Laxus. This is Laxus’s place, this little space of pale skin that no one ever sees but him, the pale white waiting for the touch of his fingers or the slide of his tongue.

“Leave your hair down tomorrow,” Laxus says without pulling away. It almost doesn’t need to be said -- Freed never ties his hair up off his neck, unless it’s at Laxus’s specific request -- but the implication make Freed shudder, tremble with understanding as Laxus lets one of his hands go to slide down around the dip of the other’s hip. Freed is pressed hard against the sheets, the flushed skin of his cock catching minimal friction off the resistance of the tangled blankets, but he gasps when Laxus wraps his fingers around his length, even the tension in his hands relaxing as the blond presses his mouth tight against the back of the other’s neck and sucks a bruise against him. Freed shivers, Laxus strokes up over him, and as his motions fall into rhythm with each other everything else starts to flicker out of importance. Freed starts to rock back to meet the blond’s thrusts, offering enough resistance to tingle satisfied friction up Laxus’s spine as it couples with the heat of submission under the other’s skin. Freed’s whining against the sheets and Laxus’s breathing is coming faster too, spilling out against Freed’s shoulder almost into audibility before Laxus shifts to press his mouth flat to the other’s skin and stifle the sound. Freed’s going tense again, panting and twisting at the sheets under his fingers; Laxus doesn’t need to be told that the other is close, not when he can feel it in the radiant heat on his tongue and the flushed resistance of the other’s cock under his fingers. Laxus thrusts forward sharply, Freed groans a breaking wail and lets one of his hands go so he can grab at a pillow and drag it to press hard against his mouth. Laxus laughs but it doesn’t sound like amusement, it sounds like purring pleasure, and he fits his teeth back against Freed’s skin to feel the other draw taut and straining under his body.

This time he bites hard, sharp and sudden so the points of his teeth tear past Freed’s skin into four tiny pinpricks of blood, and Freed jerks against his hold and comes like the pressure was a command. With Freed gasping hazy pleasure against the pillow Laxus’s own skin feels like it’s crackling with anticipation, his shoulders pulling tense without his intention; he lets his teeth go, slides his tongue over the tiny trace of blood on Freed’s superheated skin. Freed turns his head, moans against the open air so Laxus can hear all the shattered resonance of the sound, and the spark in Laxus’s veins grounds out into certainty, uncurls all through his body as he thrusts forward once more and lets the electricity take over. Everything goes flash-hot, his blood burning under his skin and his shoulders tensing without intention, and it’s Freed that groans for him, spilling the sound off his lips like he’s the one shuddering in pleasure.

Laxus collects himself first. When he blinks his vision back into focus Freed’s eyes are shut, his shoulders still trembling with the desperate pace of his breathing. Laxus feels sun-warmed, heavy and sedate with pleasure; he slides sideways, lets the bed take most of his weight instead of Freed, and Freed hums some wordless reaction, twists like he’s trying to orient himself towards the blond.

“Stay there,” Laxus orders, reaches for Freed’s hip to draw him backwards. Freed likes to be able to see him, likes to trace out Laxus’s features and the dark tattoo across his shoulder with his eyes if not his fingers, but he doesn’t protest as Laxus fits the sticky heat of their skin together so he can breathe out against the marks of his teeth on Freed’s skin and feel the way the other shudders.

Laxus likes Freed marked.


End file.
